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A MISSING PASSENGER.
Under the great roof of Charing Cross
station the train of the night service to
Paris was all ready for starting. The night
was chilly and damp, and the season early
in the spring. Passengers were few, and
the train was a long array of almost empty
carriages. In the compartment I occupied
there was only one other passenger, a brisk
and dapper little man, whose baggage con
sisted only of one black bag, with his name
and address painted in big letters thereom
"Oliver Hook, Boulogne-sur-Mer." It was
easy enough to identify him as a well
known "bookie" or betting man, who, for
reasons connected with certain acts of Par
liament, had his headquarters at Boulogne.
Just as the train was on the point of start
ing the door of the carriage was hastily
opened; a dark Italian face peered in, and
threw a searching glance about the com
"Haven't seen her to-night, Toni-_o,"
said my companion, gravely, but affably.
The Italian raised his hands with a hope
less kind of gesture, and disappeared.
The train moved on, first through the
brilliant lights of Whitehall and West
minster, and then among dark roofs and
dim, meagre streets. Cannon street! There
was tiie lialian again scrutinizing the half
dozen passengers who joined the train. At
London Bridge it was the same.
"Curious chap, that," said my compan
ion. "He's looking for his sweetheart, and
it's a thousand to one chance if he finds
her. Here, Tommy," he said, addressing
the Italian, "jump in here and say how
you're getting tlong. Hi, boy, last special
The Italian aud the evening paper were
shot into the carriage at the same moment
as the train began to move. But when we
were in full motion, some one else, at the
peril of his life and amid warning cries
from porters and guard*, opened the car
riage door and bolted in, sinking exhausted
upon the seat. Mr. Hook instinctively
drew his evidently weli-filled black bag
closer toward him, for the newcomer had
a lawless, desperate look about his face,
and was evidently in a high state of sup
pressed excitement. With the new ar
rival came a chill that made all the other
passengers shiver. Mr. Hook drew his
wraps about him; the Italian's teeth
chattered, and yet the glasses were up, and
the temperature in the carriage was not
very low. Another strange thing was a
sudden change in the appearance of the
last arrival. At the first glance you i
might have taken him for some desperado i
escaping from justice. In a few moments i
his expression of countenance had changed i
completely. The dark, handsome face had '.
le*ome composed and indifferent, and all I
trace of excitement had disappeared. The i
man drew a cigarette from his case and be- i
gan to smoke.
A headline in the last edition of the !
evening paper caught my eye. It read : l
"Suicide of a Countess in a London Ho- i
tel." The paragraph was short, but sensa
tional. A certain foreign Countess, one -
Mine, de Bodija, who had. excited some at- I
tention by the brilliancy of her beauty,
the richness of her jewels, and the ex- i
travagance of her costume, had been found i
dead in her rooms, evidently having pois
oned herself, while on her dressing table
was a letter from the Count de Bodija, her
reputed husband, announcing that he had
lost his last coin at the gaming tables, a
circumstance, he wrote, that necessitated
the breaking of a connection that had al
ready lasted too long. It was added that
all the Countess's jewel caskets appeared
to have been emptied and everything of
value made away with.
While I was reading this paragraph Mr.
Hook was busily explaining its purport in
his copious, if not exactly classic, French
to his Italian friend, who looked abstract
edly, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.
The other man listened, too, with con
cealed interest,and when Mr. Hook wound
up with the assertion, "Cet homme etait
cochon, nest pas ?" he dashed suddenly
into the conversation.
"Why so?" he asked. "How do you
know how he was treated ? Why should
you say evil of a man of whom you know
Mr. Hook eyed his interlocutor with a
keen, steady glance.
"Perhaps I do know something of him,"
he replied. "Parhapsl met him in Liver
pool. Perhaps 1 laid him eight to seven
in hundreds against Cantharidea."
A muttered execration escaped from the
"Perhaps you have got his money in
that black bag of yours; the last hundred
of all hi- thousands," he suggested, with a
"i-ook here, Monsieur Le Comte," said
Mr. Book, calmly, "1 am not so foolish as
to carry a lot of pewter about with me
when traveling with 1 don't know who;
but I have a certain feeling for a man who
has broke himself piling on the pieces
pluckily, whether it's on cards, or dice, or
horses, and if a fiver is of any use to
"If it is of any use to him !" cried the
other; "why; my good friend, it is of the
greatest possible use. But see," he contin
ued, a flush as ul" shame passing over bis
cheeks as he stretched out bis hand for
the proffered notes, "I do not wish to re
ceive alms. See. lure is a trinket, the Last
of my valuables; you shall hold this as
security till I redeem it."
The Count —if Count he were—pro
duced a somewhat curious crucifix of
beaten gold, adorned with enamel and col
ored stones, which he handed to Mr. Hook,
who examined it affably through bis eye
glasses for a moment and popped it into
hi- black l':ii_. The transaction pa—ed so
quickly that it escaped the notice uf the
Italian, who was staring intently through
the window ::t the blank darkness outside.
And when he turned hi- eyes opon the oc
cupants of the carriage, the Count and
Mr. Hook were engaged in amicable con
Bat somehow the journey down was not
a cheerful one, and it was something of a
relief when the train reached Dover.
When the train, with much creaking and
groaning: bad COOM to a definite stop, the
carriage d<x>rs were opened by a Muff,
good-humored person, to whom Mr. Hook
at once handed hi- b:ig, and whom he ad
dressed a.- "William." William from the
first took charge of everybody, and mus
tered his little party with much decision.
"Now, gents, there's no hurry : the boat
can't start for another three hours. I'll see
to all the luggage. Follow me, plea-.
And, waving his latern on high, the man
led the way through dimly-lighted lHK>kin_.'
offices and empty corridors till we reached
a comfortable waiting-room, where a capital
tire was blazing in the grate.
The firew:i- a cheerful circumstance, and
William, giving it a vigorous stir, which
roused the blare tv a still further hight,
turned to his gue-ts ami hospitably and
patriotically congratulated them on tbeir
good luck in having to wait so long on this
side of the Channel rather than on the
"I don't say the lrenc-hie- wouldn't have
given you the shelter of a roof, or a fil
sit by, for perhaps tbey would, bat t miser
able affair it would be."
William, it may^ie remarked "en paren
these," only erred in ovenwtiniatiug the
hospitalities of the French railway author
ities. Still, as Engli we might have
been expected I a little at our
lot. Bat, strange to say, tha only note of
complaint came fin omit, wbo cer
tainly was not E-OgUsh, and wh
every one a distinct _hiver as he made his
wav to the lire.
"It's a burning shame," he said, "to
wait three hours in this wretched sta
"Wretched, do you call it, sir ? said
William, rather nettled. "Al
aA-JLIA-T-KNTO DALLY HECORD-U-STIOiN. oATCIRDAY, NOT-EMBER gg, 18yQ.~El-j.HT FAUfIS.
thank your stars you haven't got to wait
three hours on the other side. But I say,"
cried the man, suddenly breaking off his
discourse, and looking blankly round
upon his little flock, "there's one of you
missing. There was seven of you just
now —I counted you over, and now there's
only six. Where's the young lady ?"
Clearly, there were only six of us, and
no young or old lady among the number.
Had there been a female passenger? Will
iam was certain upon the point. My own
impression agreed with his. The rest
were doubtful on the point. And as for
the Italian, he only shook his head when
"Nut much English," he replied humbly,
as if in contrition for his ignorance. But
his dark eyes wandered about from one to
the other in a questioning, wondering way,
as if he felt that something was being dis
cussed that might concern him nearly, be
being helpless and, as it were, speechless
among it all.
But Mr. Hook good-naturedly came
forward and explained the matter to
Signor Tomaso in his fluent, colloquial
"Come, now, you have your chance,"
he cried. "You are looking for a missing
young woman, and here is one ready to
Once possessed of the idea that there was
a question of a female passengei who had
disappeared, the Italian became much in
terested and agitated. He had expected, |
he had hoped to find a young lady among j
the passengers. Was it anyone who re
sembled a photograph he now produced?
It was a common photograph enough,
produced in some Italian town, but show
ing a very beautiful face, of a Southern
type, with a charming contour of head and
neck. Curiously enough the neck was
adorned with a massive chain, from which
depended a crucifix, of much the same kind j
as that which Mr. Book now carried in j
his ba* as a pledge from the Count. But i
as far as William was concerned, there was j
nothing to be said about the photograph, j
He had not seen the young lady's face, for
she was wrapped in a long, loose cloak, or |
something of that kind, and held thesleeve j
tt across her face as if she were proteet
it from the night rir.
.[together, William remarked that this
a queer start, and he did not half like
And, taking up his lamp, lie said that ;
he would take a look round. He went out, I
but returned in a few moments, looking a j
little scared. He beckoned to me to fol
io* him, and I went out quickly, not ex
kg any observation among the other !
ingers, except the Italian, who kept a j
ceaseless watch on all our movements, and
who crept out after me.
**\Vel!, I saw her, sir," whispered Will- |
iam, flashing his lamp up and down the !
dark corridor. ''There she stood, just
Dutside the door, as if she was doubtful |
.bout coming in; but when 1 turned to !
ipeak to her she was gone. This is a queer \
start, and no mistake! Would you mind
lomintr with me while 1 take a look |
E tramped up and down the passage?, !
1 into empty rooms, all dark and de
serted. There was no sign of a living j
I hire anywhere,
ut we were startled all of a sudden by a '
i cry from the Italian: "Yes, yes '. She, I
!" Le shouted. "Anita, Anita I"
nd away he darted, as if in pursuit of !
l- Hying figure, away down the long, j
.top him!" cried William; "he will
ble into the harbor !" for ihe door at
the end opened directly on the jetty.
Fortunately, the door was locked, and the ,
Italian shook it violently to no purpose.
"She went through there V cried Will
iam, interpreting aright the man's ges- :
tures. '"Taint possible. I bolted the,
doors myself, and lock :em—I remember j
now —and here's the key in my pocket."
Pd, as William flashed his lamp upon
heavy fastenings of the door, it was |
plain enough that no one had passed out i
(low ask him," said William, panting i
l>ewi_dered, "who this young lady is j
why she should hide herself from the |
of the passengers. Now, come in
here." William unlocked the door of a.
room half filled with boxes and packing \
i a-. -. patting his lantern on>he floor, and I
placing an empty case as a seat. "Sit
K. gentlemen ; and now 'parley yous.' "
lasf said the Italian, thus conjured i
•ak : "what I beheld was indeed the
of my lost Anita. But was it more
than the form, the apparition, come to j
warn tne that she is no longer on this j
earth? Yes, she was my betrothed, my j
promised wife, one of my own country, .
that beloved Fiume, where our early years j
were spent. Three years ago I set forth j
K America, to establish myself at Buenos
■es, where I had been invited by some
ipatriots. Fortune smiled upon me. I I
soon at the head of an excellent busi
i, as restaurateur. Before long I had
paid the expenses of my installation and
had began to put money away for my
Anita, for her presence alone was wanting
to complete my good fortune We con
stantly exchanged letters, which were
charged with the warmest affection; her
most ardent wish was to be with me once j
more. Well, at the end of two years I
Kable to send a handsome sum to de
the cost of her passage. Knowing the |
perils that beset a young and handsome ',
but inexperienced woman, I had arranged ■
every step of her progress. At Pari- she
would be received by one of my good
friends, a cafetier. At Boulogne another j
of my compatriots is a well-known patis- j
■ier; with him -lie would find hospitality
reconduct through the bewilder
ment of embarkation. At London another '
of my friends, a dealer in plaster statuary, |
would receive her, and finally, at South- j
ampton. she would be put on board the ;
mail Bteamer by another of my friends. I
who is concerned with ices and confection- j
cry. All this programme w.is effectually I
performed till my Anita readied Boulogne.
There she was pat on board the English
boat by my friend. From that moment
lhe is lost altogether. Not one single |
word, not a sign of her existence. Imagine
my grief and ;:!arm when I boarded the
steamer on which her passage had been
taken —and no Anita. Imagine my frantic
letters and the brief, cruel replies. Hu
man nature could stand the suspense no
longer. 1 disposed of my business and re
turned to Europe to search for her myself.
I have traveled to and fro many times on
the route she took. I bave said to myself, J
if she has been enticed away; if, which |
a forbid, she has come to distress .
and shame, she will surely return by the |
he came. But now f incline to think
tii.it she is dead, murdered, perhaps for the
sake of the ornaments of gold and jewels
wbich she always wore ; for exactly a year
:ic by since "he disappeared, and I
believe that her apparition passed before
■ to-night for some good purpose, and
t the moment when I shall ascertain,
and perhaps avenge, her fate is not far
i.'hen the affair was succinctly ex
ined to William, he exclaimed thai it
: a queerer start than he had expected.
the same time, if the young woman had
no real existence, he wa- not responsible
ing her safely on board the steamer,
and he must now go and look after the
other paa-CUffO-a. By this time, however,
two of the passengers, Mr. Hook and the
. had come to look after William.
tare famished, William,'' exclaimed
the former. "I> there no way of getting
: in this benighted place'"
William 1 der. The hotel
•ra* closed Tor the night, and everything
io the w:iy of a refreshment bar shut up.
il, he knew of a hotel in the town where
ly sitting up
customers who might come in by the
train. And having ascertained that
other passengers—only two by the way
rere comfortably asleep and not likely
rander far from the fireside, William
ncked the door at tbe end of the oorri-
I v- upon the chilly, dripping
iy. The man turned his lamp iv all
directions, as if to assure himself that no
secretive passenger was lurking in the
'Follow me. gents, close, for its easy
enoush to get into the water on a night
like this," said William,- waving his lamp
"And precious difficult to get out again,
1 should say," added Mr. Hook blandly.
The town was fast asleep, and not even
a policeman or a cat was in sight to give
a little life to the scene. But William
knew his ground; and the memories of the
night are agreeably diversified by the
recollection of a handsome round of beef, a
colossal bottle of pickles, and a genial host
and hostess to do the honors of the impro
vised banquet. But nothing would induce
the Italian to share in our meal. He
had no hunger, he said, and remained
planted in the passage, as if to keep his
eye upon us.
Said the Count:
"I mistrust that fellow. Why should he
follow us into the town when he wanted no
refreshment? Look out for your black bag,
"Never mind my bag," said Mr. Hook,
good-humoredly; "the most precious thing
it contains at this moment is whit you
see." And unlocking his inseparable
bag he produced an unbroken pack of
The Count's eyes sparkled at the sight. t
"Come, what is it to be?" he cried.
But here our host interposed. He cou'd
no^ sit up any longer, and card-playing was
a thing held in horror by the licensing au
"Ab! it is your free England!" cried the .
Count with a sneer.
But there was nothing fjr it except to
turn out, and we followed William once
more in single file along the harbor side,
as pitchy dark as ever. Just halfway
across we heard a cry from the Count, and
he dashed suddenly forward, clutching at .
something invisible to the rest. William
caught him by the arm and swung him
"Why, guvnor, you'll have been in the i
water if I hadn't caught hold of you. What i
could you have seen to make you jump '
like that ?''
"What did I see?" repeated the Count, '
who was white in the face, and all of a
tremble. "Why, what was it but a black
dog; and he showed his teeth, and I was
going to kick him into the water."
When we got back to the lights and the
warmth of the big fire in the waiting-room ;
there was still an hour and a half to put
away before the boat started. Before long !
the Couut and Mr. Hook had established i
themselves in a corner of the room, with
the top of a portmanteau covered with a
railway rug for a card table, and were com- '
pletely engrossed in their game, which :
was, I think, poker. Anyhow, they soon |
got to high stakes, and that showed that '
the Count was winning, for we knew pretty '
well what he had to start with. The
Italian watched the progress of the game
with keen interest, his face brightening
when the luck was on the side of Mr. i
Hook. For that gentleman had been ver}* ,
kind to him, he explained. He had helped
him when everybody else laughed at and [
derided his search. Yes. he was a good \
man that; but as for the other, the Italian
felt an instinctive horror of liim, for what ,
reason he knew not. The repugnance ■
seemed to be mutual, nnd the Count \
winced and frowned every time the Italian
approached the card table. At last he ■
roughly bade him take himself off, for that
he hated to be watched. But while the j
other meditated some rejoinder William
appeared at the door with tlie welcome ,
"Now, cenllemen, all on board, if you .
please. The boat will start in five mm- !
"Then we'll settle now," said Mr. Hook j
cheerfully to the Count; "what do you
make it—a hundred and fifty? That's j
right. Why, da'h it, my friend," as he '
handed over to the Count a little roll of
bank notes, "a performer like you ought
to have made a fortune instead of losing
"Ah !" said the Count, a little elated by j
his opportune success ; "perhaps 1 shall -
now begin. But stay, you forget the little j
loan : allow me to repay it with thanks."
And he handed a note to the other, who
took it without remark. But he silently ■
opened his black bag, and, taking out the
gold and enameled cross that the Count
bad deposited in his hands, proffered it to j
his companion. "Keep it," cried the Count j
loftily, "as a memorial of our meeting."
".Many thanks, I had rather not," replied
Mr. Hook, coldly. "I have a notion that
it brings ill luck."
"It might be so," said the Count, un- j
ea-ily : "I never thought of that. Well, I
will sell it when I get to Paris, and I will
not play till I have got rid of it."
"There are different kinds of ill luck," j
replied the other, dryly.
"Well, I'm not afraid," said the Count, ;
wrapping up the cross in the bank-notes '
he had just won at play, and placing the j
little packet in an inner pocket.
"Si_rnor," cried the Italian, coming for- i
ward, "of your goodness permit me to ex- ■
amine that trinket; it resembles closely a j
crucifix that was worn by my Anita, my j
promised wife. Ah, if it should be the
same, and prove the means of clearing up
her unhappy fate I"
"Impertinent fellow," cried the Count:
"what is your Anita and her fate to me
that I should satisfy your vulgar curi- !
"All the same, I should show it to him," .
said Mr. Hook, calmly. "You didn't seem '
to set much store by it, anyhow."
"Well, I decline," said the Count, !
"To be sure you know your own busi- I
ness best," continued Mr. Hook; and then, '
sinking his voice to a whisper, "Take my
advice, and chuck the thing overboard as
soon as we are clear of the harbor."
"I will chuck him overboard if he looks
at me in that insolent manner," said the
Count aloud, and evidently referring to
the Italian, who was certainly glaring at
him in a very aggrc-sivc way.
■'Now, gents!" cried William, appearing !
once more with his lamp, and speaking in ;
aggrieved and peremptory tones. "Don't
you hear the boat a-whisiling for ycu?"
There was nothing for it but to hasten
on board, making our way among the
black beams of the jetty, where William
Stood with bis lamp, throwing a light upon
the "brow," which was like the side of a
house for steepness.
"You haven't put the young l?dy on
board, William," said one, jokingly.
"I'm thankful to see you ail safe on
board, sir," replied William, solemnly.
"I never knew such a start, never!"
It was pitchy dark, but the water was
perfectly smooth, and as we passed out to
sea the colored lights on the pier head
were reflected in all kinds of curious
twists and twirls as our boat churned uj>
the dark waters. Presently the broad,
electric beam of the South Foreland lights
threw a dazzling path over the sea, while
lines of twinkling lamps were still visible
on the coast we were leaving. But where
were the answering lights from the other
side, whose cheerful greeting is such a
comfort to timid voyager.- ?
"Perhaps it may happen to be thick in
iniiicbannel," replied a sailor man, engaged
in coiling something on the poop, who had
been appealed to on the question. And
thick it proved to be. All of a sudden the
boat had plunged into a dense and cling
ing fog. Here was darkness with a ven
geance —a darkness which could.be felt.
From the deck not a glimmer could be
if any of tiie ship's lights: nothing
was to be seen,indeed, bnt a black, chaotic
gloom. Even sounds were snaffled and in
distinct; the shriek of our steam whistle,
the clank of the ship's bell, on which
somebody was sounding .1 di-_nalsymphony,
IS if afar oil'; while similar sounds
to the ri_ht and left of us gave evidence
of the dangerous proximity of other ves
sels in the same predicament. The fog
Iso take i poet mkoß of the cabin;
here, from the heat of the stove and
of the lamps, it ir as possible to see from
one side to the other; and here, in a cor
ncr to themselves, Mr. Hook and th«
Count were passing away the time in toss
ing for sovereigns, quite unconcerned
with the weather prospects outside. Al
i this game the Count had been a seriou
and persistent loser. It seemed as if there
was some spell u[>on him. Whether he
"called" or "spun," the result was always
against him. Twenty times in succession
he had lost, and then he paused as ii
hesitating whether to go on.
'Tell you what it i-," said Mr. Hook,
1 magnanimously. "I don't like having a
man so cheap as all this. What did I tell
you? It's that blessed cruci^x that is do
ing your business. You go and chock it
overboard, as I advised you before, and
then come back and see if you don't get
' a turn."
"That is what it shall be," said the
I Count, rising and making his way to the
"Yes. that is the man," said Mr. Hook,
!r to an inquiring glance, as soon
unt had disappeared. "I knew
the firs'. —the Comte de Bodija.
uotess' is the poor creature who
i the evening papers a turn. But
us thing is that I believe this was
girl our friend Tomaso is looking
ttle bird told me her history, and
I'ouut met Ler on board a steamer
ed her in'o following him; and a
creature she was. And putting
that together, I think we have
good line to the whole business."
loa't you think Tomaso has got a
that blessed cross has given him
if suspicion; for it was her's, no
'ut it's only a suspicion. And if,
, the cross is at the bottom of tlie
is time, it will never be anything
oor Tomaso is quite done up, and
steward to put him into a bunk,
of the way. Hulloa! what's
i talk was interrupted by quick
i the deck, and the trampling of
lead, and everybody made for the
n ladder. On deck something
at black shadow loomed over u-',
leard the shrill cries of foreign
Next moment the shadow had
That shadow had been a great
1 ship, with every sail set to
_ slightest breez>, but drifting
tide up channel, and without
lights as far as any one could see. She
missed us by a hair's breadth and went on
her way rejoicing.
And we had cause to rejoice soon after,
for we passed out of the fog bank as sud
denly as we had entered it. Soon we were
close in shore and should l>e landing in an
other ten minutes.
And with that prospect, the frail bondof
interest that connect fellow-voyagers, for
however short a passage, was suddenly
broken. Everybody was after his own liag
and portmanteau. And yet I could see
nothing of the Count in alt this bustle ;
while the Italian was crouched upon one
of the wet benches on deck, pale aud livid,
as if the voyage, notwithstanding the calm
ness of it, had been too much for him.
And, running against Mr. Hook, I heard
"Confound that Count! Where is he
hiding ? He owes me twenty pounds."
But from that moment there was nothing
to think of but hurry-skurry to catch the
train for Paris, for which, thanks to the
fog, we were already late.
A few days after—the weather bright
and spring-like, and ihe trees on the
boulevards showing tufts of green — I hap
pened to be near the Madeleine one morn
tand saw what was indeed a "funeral
p." The front of the church was
g with black, with silver tears
nkleil thickly everywhere, and a cor
of carriages stretched all around the
"Place" below. Taking a chair outside a
neighboring cafe an attentive waiter
tght me coffee and Figaro, while he
singly pointed out a paragraph which
upon the scene before us :
"his morning are celebrated, at the
rch of the Madeleine, the obsequies of
Count de Bodija, once a well-known
c in the world of 'sport' and 'high
With every advantage of fortune
md person, the* Count was an infatuated
player, whose ill-luck and constant and un
accountable series of losses had become al
most a proverb among his associates. The
Int, it is said, was assisted in his reek
career by a lady of rare personal
lty, who had for some time shared his
lines. The crash came at last; Madame
mittel suicide at her London hotel,
while the body of Monsieur was picked up,
Kiout a sou in the pockets of his gar
its, on the beach near Cape Grisnez.
is supposed to have fallen, or, perhaps,
ped overboard, and probably, at night,
a one of the numerous packet boats
crowded with passengers that are con
tinually crossing between the Channel
E. The supreme touch of ill-fortune is
o in the fact that if M. Bodija had
eded in reaching Paris he would have
met with the news of a magnificent
•itance bequeathed to him by an
uncle—one of those Brazilian magnificoes
whose fortunes are to be reckoned in
milliards. Tlie inheritance has, at all
Ints, secured for the unfortunate Count
lost magnificent inhumation."
<"ow, what are we to make of the curi
apparition of that young woman among
the passengers on that particular night?
My own evidence would not go for much,
for I had only a vague impression of hay
■ seen such a figure. And William, the
way man, might easily have been de
ceived by some accidental arrangement of
light and shadow. The Italian had his
mind highly excited on the subject, and it
lasy to imagine that au image so strongly
iressed on his brain may have assumed
semblance of reality. The same may
said of the Count, for it may be taken
granted that he saw something else
n a black dog to terrify him so unac
ntahly. Yet, taken altogether, the in
?nts can only be characterized in
lliam's concise phrase as a "queer start."
i few days later I ran against Mr. Hook
his way to Chantilly, where some
■plechases were to be run. The talk
urally enough fell upon the fate of the
mt de Bodija. And Mr. Hook volun
■ed the following statement, which
wed, he said, that the Count had some
good feeling about him : On the diy fol
lowing his arrival at Boulogne, Mr. Hook
had received a registered letter containing
the very notes that he had paid to the
Count, with a letter in a feigned hand,
requesting him to pay himself what might
be owing to bim, and to expend the bal
ance in providing due funeral rights for
the lady known as Countess de Bodija, and
for a certain number of masses for the re
pose of her soul and tbat of her reputed
hnsband. Now the commission had occa
sioned Mr. Hook some embarrassment, but
be contrived to get it duly executed, and
the body of the unfortunate woman had
L>een interred with proper solemnity.
Now this circumstance was not to be
reconciled with any existing theories as to
the Count's disappearance from the living
world. Mr. Hook accounted for the mat
ter by the supposition that the Count had
not met wit li any accident on board the
boat, but had landed and made all the ar
rangements just detailed, and then, aftei
waiting probably for the cover of dark
ness, had thrown himself into the sea. Bui
another explanation recommended itsell
more strongly to my judgment. Somebody
must have come down upon the Count al
the moment he was about to commit lib
lucky talisman to the deep, and snatch
fr-'in him tbe crucifix and the note;
t were wrapped about it, had, in plair
_om "chocked" the Count into thi
. Hot being a thief, this somebody hac
en the tirst opportunity of getting rie
he bank notes, the possession of whid
lid have been a very compronii-inj:
i*e of evidenie had any inquiry been sel
. at the same time is effecting s
dable purpose. I should have liked v
the the Italian his views upon th*
matter, hut nothing more has been heard
of him, and wherever his lot in life may be
cast, he is no longer to be found, either by
night or day, making the Channel passage,
and trying in vain to solve the mystery of
the missing passenger.— All the Year Bound.
LUCK OR PROVIDENCE?
Showing How Uard-Earned Savings Van
' l.hed iv a Canter.
[From the New York Times.]
I have a friend who is a newspaper man
and a bit of a cynic. I met him upon the
steps of the Astor House one afternoon last
week. He was in a discursive mood and
the subject of his discourse was luck.
Something had gone wrong with him and
he was saying things about his Inch that
would not look well in print. He moral
"There are two kinds of superstitious
persons, religious persons and gamblers.
What the religious man attributes to
Providence the gambling man attributes
to luck. The scientific man says there is
no luck, and the late Richard A. Proctor
wrote columns about draw poker to prove
it, and then died of yellow fever. I don't
pretend to know anything al>out the mat
ter, except that things go awfully coatrary
sometimes. And that reminds me of a
"L)o you remember Dr. S., that horse
racing editor? Xo. Well, he was widely
known in his day. I don't think a man's
wife ought to be too hard on him. He
may not be driven to open rebellion, but
he is apt to wish he had not married.
Now, the doctor's wife was pretty hard on
him in one way. She used to come down
to the office every pay-day and make him
hand over his salary to the last cent.
Then every morning before he started out
she would give him enough money for car
fare and a light lunch.
"Still, the doetj-r managed to keep a
cheerful countenance in public, and by
dint of adroit financiering and careful bet
ting—for he was a bit of a sport—to lay by
a snug little sum which he had in bank en
tirely unknown to his wife. Though
there is no telling how he ever got his first
dollar to bet, unless he borrowed it, he
was on tne whole pretty lucky, and he
kept adding to the fund in bank until it
reached a trille above $1,300. If 1 had
been the doctor I never would have al
lowed the balance to hang about that un
lucky number thirteen. I would have
stopped at twelve and waited until I could
make it fourteen or fifteen. But perhaps
he did not think of that.
"Well, one day during the season at
Monmouth Park, after the doctor had
placed his own little stake on a sure thing,
he sat in the reporters' stall waiting for
the first race to start. The horses had not
yet come to the post when a boy tapped
him upon the shoulder and said that a lady
on the grand stand wished to see him.
The doctor looked in the direction indi
cated by the boy and was dismayed to see
his wife. She had never to his knowledge
attended a race before, and he was even
yet doubtful whether he was gazing at the
real woman or at an apparition. But she
wis beckoning to him with more vigor
than could be expected of a ghost, so he
got out of the stall and went to her a. fast
"'Why, my dear, this is an unexpected
pleasure,' began the doctor, but his wife
cheeked him by saying: 'Oh shut up! I
want to ask you something about this
"Then as the doctor shut up she contin
ued : 'Is there a horse to start called Im
" 'Yes, mj dear; but why do you ask ?'
" 'Well, here is a five-dollar bill; I wish
you would go and buy me a ticket on Im
"The doctor thought his wife had gone
crazy. She, who all their married life
had preached to him against the sin of
gambling, to actually bet on a horse race.
Impossible ! She was only laying a trap
for him. He coughed slightly and said:
'".My dear, I'm a little surprised at your
fancying this kind of a joke—.' Then, see
ing there was no joke in the expression of
her face, he shifted his ground thus: 'But
if you really want to—'
" 'Don't be a fool, but go and do what I
tell you!' said his wife with decision, thus
rendering further argument impossible.
"Once out of her sight the doctor recov
ered his composnre, and argued the matter
out as follows: 'Impecuniosity can't win ;
consequently money placed on him is j
thrown away. It will be better for me to
keep this money and put in the next race ;
on a horse that has some show of winning.
I'm really §5 in.' With which comforting
reflection he returned to the reporters'
stall, nodded affirmatively to his wife, and
"The horses came to the post and started.
It was a big field, and when they whirled
into the stretch opposite the grand stand,
several were bunched in the van, others j
were in a ruck in the middle, while the
rest tailed on behind, and it was impossi
ble to tell which was ahead. Then the
leaders swung around the last curve and
came down the homestretch neck and neck.
Rut when they passed the outer limit of
the crowd a cry went up that froze the
marrow in the doctor's bones and sent little
shafts of ice to his extremities. It was Im
"And that is what it really meant for
the doctor, for there had been only two or
three tickets sold on the deceitful brute,
and mutuals paid $1,300 for $4. He met
his fate like a man. That night when his
wife asked him for the money he said the
crowd had been too great about the pools
for him to get the ticket cashed, but he
would get the money in town in the morn
ing. Next morning, as soon as the bank
was opened, he drew out his $1,300 and
took it to the office, where his wife was
waiting for him.
"Now, what do you call that, luck or
Providence, or in the language of the poet,
'direction which thou canst not see?' "
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Matherville, Miss. WW. E. Stacg, M. D.
CANCER OF THE TONGUE.
For three or four years 1 had an eating sore
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Thomaston, Ga., Mar. H, ... A. Lewis,
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__B O T_V SL X" o I
TTTE OFFER XO PREMIUMS OR BEWARO
as inducements for patroaage, bot rely upon
our confirle:i! assurance that our (is.ir? are un
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A, COOIOT, - Sacrament.
EXCEISIOR DRIFT GOLD MINING COM"
puny. I ocation of principal place of bus
iness. Bacramento, tjaliforuia Notic--—Thr-re
is delingueut uf^on the following described
stock, on a'count of assessment (No 1), levied
ou tbe 27th day of July, 189J, the several
i amounts set oppo-rite the names of the re
spective shareholders, as follows:
Name. No. Cert. Shares. Ami.
L. Foss 2 12.100 8375 00
H. F. Eusch 4 7,00 22*00'
J. T. Moss 6 7,-iOO 225 00
Geo. Woodward 40 5,f00 150 00
Giacoma Berra 46 2 000 60 00 '
Mrs. K. Miller 181 100 3 00
And in accordance with law and an order of
the Board ot Directors, made August 23, 1890, so
many shares oi each parcel of such stock as
may be necessary will be sold at public auction
at the office ot the company, in Sacramento
city. California, on MONDAY," the 27th day of.
OCTOBER, 18 0, at 2 o'clock P. M , to piy delin
quent assessment thereon, 'ogether with cost of
advertisirg and expenses ot the sale.
By order of the Board of Directors.
JOHN J. Ii .UER.
Office, No. 300>£ J street, Sacramento, Califor
The above sale has been postponed to MON
DAY, the ist day ot December, 1890, at the same
hour and place.
nl-- 3.S JOEN J. BAI7E-*, Secretary.
PURSUANT TO THE PROVISIONS OF A
certain deed of trust, cxecuhd by 8. H.
ALLEN, of the County nf i'olu-a, State of Cali
fornia, to E. C. ATKI*.SON aud E. J. CROLY, of
the City of Sacramento, County of Sacramento,
and State of Cali oinia. as'Tiustees, dated
August 22. l.'Si, ard reco-ded August 23,
18-8, in the office of the County Recorder
of the County of ( oil's,. State of Califor
nia, iv Eook 10 of Trust Deeds, page 290, and.
! on application of the holder and owntr of tho
promi-sory n te seen ed to be pail by the said
detd o' trust, End because default has been
made in the payment ol the indebtedness se
cured to be paid by s.id deed of trust, tbe un
dersigned Trustees will sell at public auction
to the highest and best bidder, lor cash in
United Sta es cold con. at the front of the
Court-bouse of the County of sacrameuto, in
the City ot Sacramento, and State of Caliiornia,
on TUE-DAY, the 9th day of December, 1890
between the houisof 10 a m and 12 M of that
day (said sale commencing at the said hour of
10 a.m. of said day), the folb-wing described
real estate, with tbe improvements therton. sit
uated in the County of Colusa, State of Callfoi*
nia. to wit: The sou.heast quarter of S ction 33,
in Township 2.' north. Hange S west. Mount
Liablo base and meridian.
E. C ATKINSON,' -,
E. J. CROLY, j Trustees.
A. L. Hart. Attorney. uIS-fIiTP9
IN ACCORDANCE WITH SECTION 374S OF
the Tulitical (ode, ai amended March 16,
1889, State and County Taxes will be receivel
at the office of the C-iunty Tax Collector, north
west corner I an. Seventh streets, in the city of
Sacramento, oc and after
Thusdaj, ..or. mber 20, 1800.
Taxpayers wiii please tske notice that on the
last Monday in December (the 29th day). I^9o, at
6 o'clock p. m of tbat day, taxes will be delin
quent, and unless pad prior there o 6 p.r cent,
penalty will be added a* provided by law
GBOBQE C. MrMl'Ll.E*",
Tax Coliectjr of Sacrament, i County.
_Sacramento. Cal. .Spy. 5.159). I B.C.* n6-lt&_S
' Notliina: better for babies.
Full Cream. Full Weight.
Best on Earth. -
For sale by
OIOUtS GKO.-i._-; ASD DKOUGI-XS.